Crack the whip
by IAmNotOneOfThem
Summary: The Diogenes Club wasn't the silent place everyone thought it to be. A place full of mindless sex, a place in which Sherlock finds himself incredibly attracted to one single person: His brother, Mycroft.  xxHolmescest, warning: m/m sex, incestxx


This idea came into my mind after I listened too often to "Circus" by Britney Spears.

Enjoy!

Warning: Holmescest, sibling sex & m/m sex

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><p>There were several types of people who visited a place like this. Observers, people who liked to see the events from afar, never intervening, always watching, examining. Others liked to be right in the middle of the action, touching others while they made their way through the big house, never stopping to sit or lay down for more than five minutes. Regulars, people who just were curious to see what this was about.<p>

They all came to the Diogenes Club because of one reason.

Sometimes just to let out frustration no one else could banish, sometimes because their lives were boring and they needed fun in the only fun house in London. Sometimes it was called the Circus, a place full of sins, desire, lack of social norms and the always-watching eye of the newspapers, the reporters and people who would give up their own cocks just to have a few photos of the people in there.

It was Sherlock's first time here.

It hadn't been his own choice to come here, John had insisted that he needed some time outside. John had been gone too long to know what the Diogenes Club really was; he had been in there, once or twice because of Mycroft, but never behind the façade the owners had created. There was a reason everyone was quiet, why no one talked in there. Not because they all were un-social creatures hiding in the dark. Oh no, people tend to think they were robots, without any needs or emotions.

In there, they were like animals; desperate to fuck, to feel someone inside them. The pulsation of heated flesh, wet because of semen and sweat, sometimes tears when it had been a hard fuck; the moans and groaned swearing where normally no one would dare to say anything. In the morning, this club was like muted, no one said anything, no one left or entered because people weren't allowed to draw attention to themselves and to the house.

By noon, it was still quiet, but some people had already fucked each other senseless behind the soundproof walls. Others waited for their partners to come, some of them only wanted to have the companionship of one special person, maybe because they were tight like they liked it, or because they were submissive where the other partner was dominant - Sherlock had no idea and he wasn't desperate to find out.

He eyed the card in his hands; a little piece of plastic, golden with black letters written. His name was on it, Sherlock Holmes, a number and a date. A ticket. No one was allowed to enter without one, no one could leave with it; an unspoken rule in the Club. It was expensive, absolutely luxurious and wasteful. Mycroft once bought it for him, with the knowledge that sooner or later Sherlock would be in need of someone to banish his sexual frustration. He might be a sociopath, but even he couldn't defeat his animalistic instincts completely.

He still would make sure his brother wouldn't see him; there was no way he would allow himself to be seen by the elder Holmes.

Someone was waiting for him, a young lady dressed in a suit for women, standing behind the counter. He was known here, unfortunately. The brother of Mycroft Holmes, the young man who liked to play detective. He could see the amusement shining in her eyes, hidden behind make-up, lipstick and a plunging neckline.

"How was it to find your own man in one of the rooms?" he asked dryly before she could open her mouth.

"Good evening, Mr Holmes," she said, not even showing the slightest flinch to Sherlock's observation. She didn't grit her teeth, didn't clutch her fists, nothing. He hid his disappointment and turned his head a bit to watch the other guests. "Do you have someone special in mind or are you just here to watch?"

He didn't bother answering, her grin revealed her intention of mocking him, and took his ticket. He walked through the detector, but didn't stop like he should. No one stopped him, not even as he passed the door stewards and entered without someone checking him. No one would carry a gun with him while visiting this place; they were addicts, addicted to the sex.

The inner rooms of the house were the complete opposite of the outer ones. Not posh, expensive and ridiculous-victorian, cheap with style. It was dark, only a few spotlights illuminating the stage in the middle of the main hall. Not ordinary chairs or barstools had been placed around the stage and in front of the bar, armchairs, each cushioned with leather, smooth and soft. Washable, of course, he immediately thought with a raised eyebrow as his glance focused itself for a few seconds on a politician being given a blowjob in one of the chairs, his semen dropping on it as the female waitress pulled his cock out of her mouth, still smiling even if she was disgusted.

So many people, loud music and no one from the outside knew anything about it. Ordinary people liked to be fooled. Because who wants to know how politicians spend their free time?

Indeed, no one except the boulevard press.

A waitress waved at him, walking away while lifting her skirt up her arse a little bit up until Sherlock was able to see her string. He frowned, slightly disgusted and shocked. He could easily walk away, John didn't say how long he had to stay here and not that he had to do something. Maybe he could smoke behind the building like others sometimes did before or after sex, sometimes during it.

The man on the stage threw his boxer shorts away. The crowd cheered loudly, some whistled and threw money on the stage in front of them. Sherlock just starred, without blinking or breathing. The crowds behaved like animals, all acting upon their lower instincts and needs. He could see some of them, naked and stroking each other's hair, touching the hips, breasts and cocks of total strangers just to feel something. He saw some politicians who worked with Mycroft amongst them, one was on his knees and licked on the cock of another man, the brother of the Prime Minister.

Regardless how much he hated this place, how much he wanted to get out of here just to delete this memory and the information, he wasn't able to fight of the blood rushing in his own cock and the feeling of the hardening genital pressing against the fabric of his pants.

He walked to the bar and sat down. Maybe he could drink until he couldn't think clearly, he hated to do this to his brain, but he hated to use his own hand to banish his arousal and while drunk maybe he would stop deducing everyone who passed.

The bartender gave him a cocktail, a liquid coloured red and yellow - the properties were vodka, rum and water, a few drops of lemon and strawberry-flavoured water, and he drank it quickly. People flirted with him, waved at him, chuckled and touched his neck, his shoulders or his back, causing him to tense and frown. He wanted to go away, to leave this place.

But, as he turned his head to his left, he couldn't anymore.

Something caught his attention, locked his sight on it with chains and handcuffs. He felt heat rushing in his cock, unwanted and much to his shock, he began to sweat, shake, he shivered and allowed the bartender to pour him another drink which he quickly drank. It was too hot, he felt like he was burning.

And all because of his bloody brother sitting in an armchair, watching the stage with a slight smirk.

His belt lay on the floor, directly next to someone's shoes and pants. In the chairs next to him sat some of his colleagues, two making out, the other two watching them while taking care of their own arousals. Mycroft didn't seem to ignore that, but he didn't watch or act on his own. His cold eyes examined every single person and Sherlock found himself in the predicament that he wasn't able to deduce him, his mind was dizzy, every single thought uncontrolled and wild. He was completely lost.

Maybe because he could see his brother's cock, the soft, slightly curly hair, ginger like the hair on his head, only brighter and smoother. He wasn't hard, Sherlock realised after he couldn't stop staring at it. Mycroft titled his head and hid a yawn behind the back of his right hand, the fingers on his left one brushed his cock for a few seconds - long enough for Sherlock to gulp and stop breathing.

His cock hardened even more, he suddenly was aware of the tightness of his pants. His fingers twitched slightly, in the need to touch, to feel, but he just sat there and stared. He was confused, absolutely lost and caught in the view of his brother, the object of his sudden desire.

What he felt in his gut was wrong.

Unethical, forbidden, something the society would never accept.

But yet he liked it, the forbidden fruit in his reach, waiting for him to touch him, waiting for him to break all known rules.

He unconsciously licked his lips, staring at his brother like a predator at its prey. No one noticed or cared about it; no rules in here, no society judging every step. Two of the dancers making out on the stage were twins, both licking each other's face, entering from behind with their fingers and later with their cocks. He began to like this place.

A chuckle broke his trance-like status. His glance, until now looking at Mycroft's crotch with a shameless intensity, quickly found the source of the sound. Mycroft. His brother was looking at him, not frowning, disgusted; he was smiling. The all-mighty and knowing smile Sherlock normally hated on him, but right now - with almost all his intelligence shut off because of his brother's genital area - he kind of liked it.

Mycroft gestured him to come over, not bothering to hide his cock from his little brother's sight. No, he just crossed his legs, not completely covering it with one leg, Sherlock was still able to see it. And the fact that Mycroft shivered slightly as his leg touched his cock didn't help Sherlock's concentration.

As soon as he stood up, he checked his crotch just to see a big bulge. He didn't care about that, he just walked to his brother and stopped in front of him, hands hidden in the pockets of his coat, which he still wore.

"What a lovely surprise to see you here, brother," Mycroft said, his voice deeper than usual, causing Sherlock's body to shiver. "I must say, I'm surprised that you actually used the ticket I got you a year ago. Did John force you to go out?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and mumbled something neither he nor his brother understood. The politicians around them eyed Sherlock for a few seconds before they continued to entertain each other. Sherlock turned his head to examine each; one was an alcoholic, the other - who was sucking his cock with an enthusiasm Sherlock has never witnessed before - was currently cheating on his wife, the only woman in this group had been a man once and the other man had a special liking for children younger than 16 years. Nice group of colleagues Mycroft had, he sarcastically thought, but decided to concentrate on Mycroft again.

Or more, on what he was doing.

His brother was looking at him, still smiling, but there was something dark shining in his eyes; Sherlock couldn't find out what it was. His mind was distracted by Mycroft's fingers, he has folded his fingers and rested them on his crotch, skin touching and sometimes he brushed with the fingertips over the hot flesh. Sherlock starred, unsure of what do to. He wanted it; his own cock pressed itself against the fabric, something wet soaked his underwear - maybe pre-come, he wasn't sure about this.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" Sherlock hissed angrily.

"What am I doing, brother-dear?", Mycroft chuckled, which made a shiver run down Sherlock's spine, directly to his cock which was twitching in some kind of desperate need, "Am I enjoying you getting hard just because of some slight touches of my own fingers on my cock on purpose? Or do you mean if I'm sitting here on purpose while you are getting inpatient and uncontrolled?"

Sherlock mumbled 'Fuck off' which was commented by a hoarse laugh. His whole body was tense; he watched every movement his brother made, every single twitch of his fingers accidentally causing his fingers to touch his own cock. He should get out of here, he thought with the rest of his intelligence left, as fast as he could.

"What do you think about the dancers, brother?" Mycroft suddenly asked. Sherlock shrugged, he hadn't paid attention to the dancers on the stage - he wouldn't describe them as dancers, more as porn-stars in front of a horny crowd - or to the waiters going around to fuck and suck. "Don't be rude, brother, please answer my question."

Sherlock, who had turned his head to glance at the dancer for a few seconds, looked down at Mycroft again. He tensed immediately; felt that he was starting to shake and that he licked his lips.

Mycroft's hand was now grabbing his own cock, slowly moving up and down casually like it was the most normal thing to do in front of your own, little brother. Now and then, he tripled with his fingers. He waited for something, Sherlock realised at the edge of his apprehension, he waited for Sherlock to make a move.

"I think even you could dance better" Sherlock said and tried to sound normal, his voice trembled, it was too high, too breathless. Mycroft chuckled and made a gesture with his head, the sign that Sherlock should continue. "I think even you with your fat, too tall body could move better than these incompetent apes."

"Insulting me won't banish your problem," Mycroft said and pointed at the budge in Sherlock's pants, his smile dangerous. "Tell me, brother, why are you here?"

"You already know what, you idiot," Sherlock growled and took a step in Mycroft's direction, "John forced me."

"Nonsense," Mycroft said, still calm while Sherlock was angry, horny, desperate. "We both know that John might force you to eat or sleep, but he never would force you to go out with the knowledge that you can't work properly with big crowds around you. No, I think we both know the true reason why you are here."

"You already know it," Sherlock whispered angrily, moving forward until he could grab the armrests of Mycroft's chair, leaning down until their noses almost touched.

"I want to hear it," Mycroft said.

It was a demand, not a wish. Hard words in the inflexion of a leader, someone who had control over everything. A dominant, Sherlock thought and gulped, tried to escape the hypnotic stare of his brother, the cold grey-blue eyes who were equal to Sherlock's, someone who demanded, who leaded. And he felt that this turned him on, the mandatory way his brother threatened him.

"I won't do what you want me to, Mycroft."

Mycroft laughed and moved, both his feet now touching the ground, his slight erection - nothing compared to Sherlock's big, aching one - in the perfect view for Sherlock. He felt that he got weaker every second, his fingers almost moving themselves to Mycroft's hip without his admission.

"Why are you here, Sherlock?" Mycroft repeated his question, his hot breath brushed Sherlock's skin, every single inch felt like it was burning. "Tell me. Now."

The last few words were hard-spoken, a demand. Sherlock felt himself giving in, his knees were shaking.

"I knew you would be here," he breathed out, shivering and silently moaning as Mycroft's fingers brushed Sherlock's crotch for a few seconds. "You're here every Thursday afternoon, exactly at 10 o'clock."

"And?" his brother crossed his legs again. "Continue."

Sherlock gulped and tried to concentrate on his words, not on the fingers grabbing his erection through the fabric.

"I..." he whispered, unable to say anything.

"You?" Mycroft asked, leaning in Sherlock's direction until their noses were touching. "I'm slowly loosing my patience, brother."

"I knew you would be here, so I decided to come here."

"And why?"

"You're being an idiot, Mycroft."

"I know you like it."

Sherlock wanted to protest, but the grab got harder, actually involving his cock, not only the fabric. Sherlock moaned and instinctually closed his eyes. It felt good, absolutely good, despite the fact that he wasn't able to think clearly anymore, all his thoughts were circling around his brother, around the curly hair on his cock, about the tight pants he wore today, about the erected and hard nipples he could see through the white fabric of Mycroft's shirt.

He felt like he was close to an orgasm, only by staring at his brother and these slight touches. He felt weak, absolutely useless, weak and vulnerable. And he enjoyed every second of it.

Mycroft stood up and lent down to get his belt while closing the buttons of his pants. His erection bulged under the fabric, Sherlock was able to see it clearly. It made his thoughts go raunchy and perverted.

"Follow me, brother," Mycroft said and walked pass Sherlock, before he was out of his reach he stroked his brother's hair and chuckled because of the shiver he caused. "I will show you what I can do with the fat body of mine, as you said."

Sherlock didn't hesitate and followed his brother through the crowds, ignoring the people touching him accidentally or on purpose while he tried not to loose sight on his brother. They both were tall, yes, but others were taller. Mycroft hummed a melody, loud enough for Sherlock to hear over the annoying electronic music combined with classic, and turned to his left. There was a room, the door hidden behind a carpet, in which he went, quickly followed by Sherlock.

He noticed four things immediately.

One: There was a huge bed standing in the middle of the room. The sheets had just been washed, they seemed to be soft, the pillows were bigger than his head.

Two: A big pole rose out of the ground until it disappeared in the ceiling. Solid, a dancer pole. (Sherlock's cock twitched because of the imagination of a naked and dancing Mycroft wrapping his long legs around the steel.)

Three: Lube, and condoms on the small table next to the bed, and whips hung on the wall next to the pole.

Four: The walls were soundproof, the door immediately locked as soon as Sherlock had closed the door. He assumed that there were some sensors on the floor, he could check later.

This room obviously had only one purpose: A sex room.

"Welcome in the Stranger's Room, the unofficial one," Mycroft said, his voice amused. He stood in front of the pole, one hand resting against the metal, the other one playing with the buttons of his pants. "Sit down, brother, enjoy yourself."

"What are you going to do, Mycroft? Dance? You are far too old for that," Sherlock snorted, but he obeyed and sat down on the bed from where he had the best view of the pole.

"I'm forty-five, brother-dear," Mycroft purred and wrapped one of his legs around the pole. "And, even if I despise anything involving physical exercise," he circled around the pole and smiled down at Sherlock. "I kind of have a liking for this."

Mycroft jumped, wrapped the other leg around the pole and circled around it while he got on the ground, grabbing the pole with his hands and spreading his legs until Sherlock could see the budge in his brother's pants. Mycroft slowly got up again, rubbing his arse against the steel and let his fingers move over his own chest, moving around his nipples and into his pants.

Sherlock moaned and tried to look away, but he couldn't; he was unable to move or breath, he could just stare. The movements his brother made, they made him shiver with lust, a feeling he had never experienced before. His mind worked far too fast, saving every single second like the most precious treasure in life. He would never be able to delete this evening from his mind - and he would never want to.

"Enjoying yourself, brother?" Mycroft asked casually, the movements of his fingers visible beneath the fabric of his pants. He was touching himself; Sherlock knew it and it turned him on. Even more, if that was possible. "You are allowed to speak, Sherlock."

"I know, you idiot," Sherlock breathed out, his body aching for a touch, for mercy.

Mycroft chuckled and moaned quietly, his body tensed and he shivered. Sherlock could see that something soaked Mycroft's black pants. His brother moved one hand out of his pants and pulled his waistcoat off, he just threw it on the floor without paying attention to it. The next thing landing on the floor was his shirt.

Sherlock was surprised how thin his brother was, with his suits and the shirts he looked more chubby, but naked - his chest and the red freckles on his arms and shoulders visible - he was almost as thin as his brother. And pale, incredibly pale, almost white. Innocent. Sherlock licked his lips again, growling. He needed to feel his brother, needed to feel the pulsation of his cock underneath Sherlock's hands or in his mouth, preferential both in a row.

"Are you suffering, brother?" Mycroft asked him, his free hand playing with his nipples while the other still rubbed his cock. "You know you could beg."

"Never."

"As you wish, brother," Mycroft was quickly next to Sherlock and pushed him down on the bed, hands ripping his shirt apart in one single movement. Sherlock wanted to say something, but Mycroft placed his finger over Sherlock's lips. "Ah, ah, have I given you the permission to speak? I want you to beg for mercy, brother. And I always get what I want, right?"

Sherlock just nodded, unable to do anything except that. He felt out of control, a feeling he normally hated and loved at the same time - control was dull. His brother whose erection pressed against Sherlock's, whose skin brushed Sherlock's while he laid on him, legs wrapping around Sherlock's hips until their crotches were pressing against the other.

"I hope you came prepared for what I'm going to do to you," Mycroft whispered in Sherlock's ear, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't sit anymore." He lowered his head and looked down at Sherlock's hip, slightly moved his own, causing Sherlock to moan. "And I think I know what I'm going to start with."

He crawled down until his head was at the same height with Sherlock's hip. Sherlock's eyes widen, he knew what was going to happen, he knew it and he couldn't stop the shiver running down his spine. He just hoped Mycroft wouldn't torture him now, not now with his mind giving him pictures and thoughts he never thought might cross his mind - his brilliant mind, the only thing he trusted without hesitation.

The train of thoughts stopped as soon as Mycroft placed a kiss on Sherlock's cock he somehow had pulled out without Sherlock noticing.

He gasped, unable to move except the movements his hips made, he lifted it up until his cock was touching Mycroft's face again, the silent begging written in his face. Mycroft smiled at him, lent down and kissed the shaft before taking the whole cock at once in his mouth.

Mycroft didn't do anything for a few seconds, both he and Sherlock had to get used to the feeling first, before he started to suck. Not fast like in the porn John sometimes watched - he always forgot to delete his browser history - slow, luxurious. Sherlock groaned and dragged his fingers in Mycroft's shoulders.

"Please," he begged as he felt that he was close to coming, "Please, My…"

"You haven't called me My for a long time, brother," Mycroft mumbled, Sherlock could understand him even with his full mouth, the movement of the lips directly at his flesh made him moan.

"Shut up," Sherlock hissed and left red scratching marks on Mycroft's pale shoulder.

"As you wish," Mycroft chuckled and continued, now using his teeth and tongue to lick over the pulsation flesh.

He stopped when Sherlock came. He screamed, loudly and rather high, combined with a groan deep from his throat. Mycroft smiled and got up, the liquid dropping from his mouth down on Sherlock's body. He swallowed it, licked his lips and sat down on Sherlock's stomach.

"I told you that you would beg, brother," he said, breathless. Sherlock smiled - no, it was an evil grin, he refused to accept that he just smiled at his brother - and grabbed Mycroft's erection through his pants.

Mycroft moaned loudly and Sherlock pulled him down to kiss him. He could taste his own semen, but didn't care, Mycroft's taste was stronger and more alluring than his own. His brother's lips were soft, almost like the one's of a girl, smooth. Mycroft opened his mouth and let Sherlock's tongue in, both exploring each other's mouth while Sherlock started to rub Mycroft's cock, grabbing and squeezing it until the erection was harder.

"Turn around," Mycroft demanded between two kisses.

Sherlock obeyed and helped his brother to get him out of his, now soaked, pants and underwear. Mycroft behind him pulled out his own and opened the bottle of lube.

"It's going to hurt," he said, "and after that, I think I might show you how to use a whip for sexual arousal."

Sherlock just nodded and closed his eyes. He felt something cold entering from behind, probably Mycroft's finger, and tensed. It didn't hurt as much as expected, but still enough to make him whimper quietly. Mycroft didn't hesitate and continued to prepare him, slowly entering another finger before he pulled them out again.

He was about to roll a condom on his erection, but Sherlock stopped him with a hand.

"Don't be ridiculous, neither you nor I have some sexual diseases," he snorted, much to his brother's amusement, "What's so funny?"

"That you're still as charming as usual," Mycroft said, his cock brushing Sherlock's arse for a few seconds. "Let's go, shall we?"

Sherlock nodded again. Mycroft entered him. He was big and it hurt, it caused Sherlock to whimper again and to tense until every muscle of his body started to scream out in pain. He felt a burning behind his ears, tears. Mycroft didn't move and stroked Sherlock's hair, waited until he got comfortable again.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly and Sherlock nodded calmly.

Mycroft started to move, at the beginning slow and careful until Sherlock got used to the rhythm and the feeling of a cock in his arse, then he got faster and faster until Sherlock started to moan and groan. Sherlock's hands grabbed the thing closest to him; a pillow that he dragged his nails in, swearing and moaning the whole time.

"What would Mummy say if she found out about this?" Mycroft said, he didn't sound tired, exhausted or aroused; his voice was as calm as always.

"Shut up" Sherlock demanded quietly and hissed as Mycroft pulled out just to enter again.

"Don't be so disrespectful, brother," Mycroft lent down until his mouth was directly next to Sherlock's ear and chewed on it while he continued to fuck his brother. "But I have to admit I kind of have a fetish for you swearing."

"Kinky," Sherlock commented dryly.

Mycroft continued until Sherlock only felt pain in his arse. He didn't have to say anything, Mycroft noticed it before Sherlock did, pulled himself out, turned Sherlock around and kissed him.

When he was fifteen, Sherlock had once asked his brother how kissing felt. He had kissed his elder brother after not being given an answer. It still felt strange; but in a good way, not creepy or disgusting. He was having sex with his brother, so what? It was illegal in the UK, they could go to prison for more than 14 years. But he had never cared about law or prison, his brother was far too powerful to let that happen.

And there was no chance he would stop now; not with those incredible lips on his own, not with the still-hardened cock pressing against his own.

Mycroft licked Sherlock's lips with his tongue, the silent question if they should continue. Sherlock pushed Mycroft away from him and got up, sitting down on his brother's lap. His brother's cock was pressing against his own; he got hard again, the blood rushing down in the area.

"I'm surprised you're not unconscious yet," Mycroft commented; his pupils were dilated, his breath faster than normal - he was aroused and it made Sherlock grin.

"I'm surprised that you still haven't got a Myocardial Infarction yet, old man," Sherlock answered, his brows raised in amusement.

Mycroft didn't answer that, he wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him down again, kissing him on his cheeks and forehead. The body heat made Sherlock feel safe; his brother's companionship always had this effect on him.

"What do you think John will do when he finds out?" Mycroft suddenly asks him while he stands up, Sherlock lying where Mycroft just has been. "Or the DI you're working with?"

"You would have to kill them," Sherlock said stretched; no one could blame him, his brother running around naked next to a pole and whips would have this effect on anyone. "What are you doing?"

Mycroft took one of the whips, a small one with only one rope instead of five like others handing there, and let it hit the floor; a loud crack caused Sherlock to flinch. Strangely, he found the view rather sexy - a word he normally would never use. Mycroft looked down at him, shook his head and circled around the pole once before he stopped in front of the bed.

"Shall we see if you're the type of man who enjoys pain?"

"Do whatever you please, brother," Sherlock grinned cheekily, "Or do I have to call you Sir now?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Mycroft tutted and let the whip hit the ground again, "I don't think you will be able to say anything once I use this on you. On your back, now."

"Why should I?"

Mycroft raised one eyebrow and growled, his whole body tense like the one of a predator. Sherlock silently chuckled and turned around, his cock already hard again. Interesting how often a former virgin was able to have sex with his own brother.

"Good boy," Mycroft said and cracked the whip, "Now enjoy."

Something hard hit Sherlock's back, not as hard as Mycroft let the weapon hit the ground, but strong enough to make him whimper and cry out in surprise at the sudden pain. The shiver, beginning at his back, quickly found its way to his cock. He felt the pulsation, the aching. His brother made him crazy.

Another hit. The crack was the only sound Sherlock heard; his own groaning had been filtered out completely and if Mycroft made sounds, he couldn't hear them.

It took Mycroft five minutes to make Sherlock come only by hitting him with the whip and by saying dirty things Sherlock heard after the third time his brother said "Good boy, you like pain, huh?"

He stood up and took out a tissue to clean himself up, his whole hip and stomach was covered with sticky semen. Mycroft was still hard, Sherlock saw it from the corner of his eye, and just as his brother was about to touch himself, Sherlock's hand replaced his own.

"Finally starting to do something, brother?" Mycroft chuckled mockingly.

"Shut up, moron," Sherlock growled and started to rub, to move his hand up and down, to drag his nails into the pulsating flesh. Mycroft moaned; the first time he did it loudly without any control. Sherlock grinned and pulled his brother to the bed again, he continued his stroking until his brother made a final sound and something wet covered Sherlock's hands and skin.

Both lay next to each other, neither of them cared about cleaning up. They just have broken the law, it made Sherlock chuckle until he started to laugh, quickly, while his brother just giggled.

"Mummy would probably disown us," Sherlock said and let his head rest on Mycroft's shoulder, "And John would give us to Lestrade who would drag us into a cell."

"I would prefer a cell for both of us," Mycroft said smiling.

Sherlock laughed. "Going out with a last, big bang? I'm surprised, brother."

"We're not as different as you believe we are, brother-mine."

Sherlock honestly didn't doubt that anymore. "So," he said and let one finger circle around Mycroft's left nipple. "Does that mean you would like being hit too?"

Mycroft looked at him and raised one eyebrow. "You have to find out."

Sherlock stood up, not without pressing a kiss on his brother's lips, and got dressed again. Mycroft observed him the whole time, probably saving the images of his naked brother in his mind palace. Before Sherlock left, his hand already was resting on the knob, he turned around and smiled.

"Until next Thursday, brother."

"Until next time, Sherlock. You know I'll be here tomorrow again, feel free to join me here again."

Sherlock left without looking back, without paying attention to the still dancing crowd. He left, insulted the lady in the entrance room, and drove back with a cab. John was sitting in the living room and watched some TV. He raised his eyebrow as Sherlock got in, sweaty, exhausted, his clothes a mess.

"Where have you been?" he asked casually while Sherlock went to his bedroom.

"Diogenes Club," he called down.

"How was it?"

Sherlock looked in the mirror and noticed that he was still smiling. He could easily lie, like every time John asked him if he was fine and he said he wasn't. Or that he was, that depended on the question. How are you without a case? Bored. How are you, you haven't slept for days? I'm fine.

"Acceptable," he said, in the knowledge that John couldn't hear him from here. "Quite acceptable."

xxxxXXXXxxxxx

The next evening, the lady didn't bother talking to him. He walked directly to the room he knew Mycroft was in, he felt it. As soon as he opened the door, he saw his brother standing in front of the pole, a whip in his hand. He smiled as he saw his brother and quickly unbuttoned his pants. Sherlock grabbed his collar and pulled him down on the back, the whip in his right hand while he ripped Mycroft's shirt apart.

"On your back."

"Yes, sir."

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><p>This… I don't know why I wrote this, I just felt that I needed to.<p>

It's quite short, shorter than I wanted it to be, but I'm quite happy with the result. This was the first time I wrote an incest fanfiction and the first time I described sex as explicit as this.

And I started to like Holmescest, so expect more to come from this pairing ;)

I hope you liked it :)

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><p>Thanks to SilentEyedKat for beta-reading this<p> 


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